Shakespeare-Mania!

Tags

adoptee, Adopting Shakespeare, Adoption recovery, Love, Quotation contest, Sonnet 18

April is National Poetry Month. Not only that, it’s the BIRTHDAY month of the great English poet and playwright, William Shakespeare. For me, it means ADOPTING SHAKESPEARE- HIS LANGUAGE, HIS PLAYS, HIS SONNETS, and you’re invited to join in. This week, the Sweet Swan of Avon (who lived from April 23, 1564-April 23, 1616) turns 459! To celebrate Shakespeare’s Birthday, please send favorite quotations to elaine.coleman2013@gmail.com, thereby entering my annual Shakespeare contest.   Also, tweet them, using my twitter name @TheGoodbyeBaby. Quotation competition takes place during the remainder of April. The prize, my two suspense novels (Beast of Bengal and All the Wrong Places, will be sent to the top contributor via snail mail. Past winners include poet/memoirist Luanne Castle (@writersitetweet). To honor Shakespeare and celebrate poetry month, read Sonnet 18 aloud to someone you love.

William Shakespeare

 

SONNET 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

The contest ends May 10, after which my novels will be sent to the top contributor. So, as the song goes, “Brush up on your Shakespeare…start quoting him now!”

Join Elaine each month for musings on adoption and life.

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March Madness and A Walk on the Mild Side

Tags

Adaptability, adoptee, Covid, Covid-19, labyrinth walking, Naw Ruz, Tehran, Tibet

March seems to be a month of “Anything Goes.” During this end of winter/beginning of spring, a lot happens: Change to Daylight Saving, Tax preparation, collecting seeds for spring gardening, St. Patrick’s Day, Oscar’s Night, the Ides of March. Here is Santa Fe, as we begin Spring, the weather is wildly unpredictable. One day it’s warm and sunny, the next may bring several inches of snow.

View from the Winsor Trail, Santa Fe National Forest.

In Tehran, where I lived in the 1960s, March signaled the beginning of a new Year. Naw Ruz (pronounced “No Ruse”), was, and still is, a time for festivities and exchanging gifts. It is a day recognized around the world. Occurring at the Spring Equinox, it has been celebrated for over 3,000 years. The celebration dates back to the ancient religion of Zoroastrianism.

My older son was born in Tehran right before Naw Ruz. Iranian friends and American friends who were also living in Tehran — brought flowers and presents to the house. For my first Naw Ruz, I was immersed in mothering, somewhat oblivious to everything else. Later, I would learn of the custom of the laying out of symbolic greens and leaping over a fire.

The “haft seen” table  includes seven symbolic items all starting the with an “s” sound: sabzeh, senjed, sib, seer, samanu, serkeh, and sumac. •Sabzeh (sprouted wheat grass) symbolizes rebirth and renewal; Samanu (sweet pudding) stands for affluence and fertility;  Senjed (sweet, dried lotus tree fruit) represents love. Leaping over a fire the last Wednesday before Naw Ruz allegedly brought good luck. I was too busy nursing my brand new son to set a proper haft seen table or leap over a fire, but I was fascinated to learn of these customs.

In addition to remembering Naw Ruz, I’ve recently had the unwelcome experience of coming down with Covid. Fortunately, a light case. Walking my way back to health, I was strolling about Santa Fe Plaza last week — definitely a “walk on the mild side” — when I encountered peaceful protesters walking to save Tibet. The day was beautiful, and though spectators were few in number, I felt confident that awareness was being raised. The Tibet supporters seemed a fitting welcome to the change of seasons.

Meanwhile, come rain or shine, the neighbor’s brass Samuri stands guard over my part of town.

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading! 

Still Reading the Nights Away

Tags

adoptee, adoption, bibliophiles

Like most bibliophiles, I discover plenty of books on my own. But every month, fellow readers (think Reading Club) suggest wonderful titles that I might otherwise miss. When The Vanishing Half was chosen, such was the case. Brit Bennett’s latest novel is a treasure. Enlightening, energetic, and deeply moving.

What most held me with this work was the existential question it asks. Who are we, really? Are we the product of our environment or are we the product of our genes and DNA? How much is related to the color of our skin?

In Bennett’s novel, African American identical twins Desiree and Stella Vignes escape Mallard, their hometown, when they are sixteen. They follow different life paths, but the most important divergence is their respective racial identities. Both are fair-skinned. Stella presents herself as white while Desiree represents herself as black. When the twins’ daughters meet, the sisters’ fates once more intertwine. The closely threaded stories unfold in the Deep South and California and span years from the 1950s to the 1990s.

Along with other adoptees I’ve met over the years, I’ve striven to reconcile my adopted self with the original version. I continue to search for answers. Outwardly, I lead a full, rich existence. Inwardly, there has always been a missing puzzle piece. Which is the real me? Yes, I am the daughter of Richard and Reva, the wonderful couple who adopted me after WWII ended. But also, I’m the daughter of Velma and Giovanni, the ill-matched couple whose marriage resulted from a pen-pal relationship. Velma was living at home in Iowa; Giovanni was a Navy man, out at sea. When World War II ended, so did the marriage. At age five, I was put up for adoption and landed, metaphorically speaking, in a very good place. Despite everything, part of me seemed absent. As I grew up passing as “the real daughter,” I felt the pain of a vanishing half.

Bennett’s masterful novel opened my eyes to those who “pass” for multiple reasons; it inspired me to learn more. If you’ve not yet read Brit Bennett, add this book to your winter reading list.

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or http://www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

Reading the Nights Away

Tags

adoptee, adoption, Adoption recovery, Dealing with Adoption, writing

There is no friend as loyal a book.
— Ernest Hemingway

Outside of a dog, there’s no friend like a book.
Inside a dog, it’s too dark to read.
— Groucho Marx

Winter days are short and the evenings long. Here in the high desert country of New Mexico, it’s bitterly cold. Snow is predicted, temperatures below twenty degrees. The weather tells me to relax by the fire with a cup of tea and a good book. I’ve neglected a multitude of quotidian household chores to delve into some waiting volumes. Lately, I’ve decided that chores can wait. Below, a few books that turned me into a couch potato.

Taking Flight with Luanne Castle

Luanne Castle’s newest poetry collection is titled Rooted and Winged. I was thrilled to receive this book in the mail, as I’d long anticipated its publication. A thoroughly rewarding read: Many gems embedded in this slim volume! Castle’s view of the world touched and inspired me. I relished her metaphors and descriptions, along with insights that seem to rise from her innermost being. With keen eyes and incisive commentary, she travels from her past, to possible futures, from interiors to the wilds of nature.

In “Tuesday Afternoon at Magpie’s Grill,” Castle writes “No matter what I notice, no matter what I record, I will never capture the ease of wind-filled wings, tail feathers a translucent backlit fan…” Actually, the poet accomplishes what she says she cannot, capturing the ease of wings. With grace and clarity, she creates such lines as “I’m trying, really trying hard to form a meditation on plants…My rosemary bush might do the trick, with its strong scent and evergreen resilience.”

Being There with Tommy Orange

Returning to Santa Fe Indian School after thirty-five years, I sat expectantly in the audience. We waited for the appearance of Tommy Orange. As we sat in the packed auditorium, I reminisced. In the late 1980s, I had been a language arts teacher at this school. I’d mentored ninth graders and juniors from New Mexico’s eight northern pueblos. My 2017 novel, All the Wrong Places, was set in a fictitious school based on Santa Fe Indian School. Having read Orange’s debut novel as part of a community read sponsored by our local library, I was eager to hear what this Arapahoe and Cheyenne author would say. Two easy chairs were soon occupied by Orange and Antonia Gonzales, a Native American radio commentator/interviewer. Orange told about his discovery of books and reading, well after his formal education ended. He worked in a bookstore, an experience that triggered a reading and writing breakthrough.

There There, Orange’s debut novel, depicts 12 young Native Americans all going to attend the Big Oakland Powwow. The backstories of these attendees are related, most in first person narratives. There are many interconnections, which also come to light. All arrive at the Big Oakland PowWow. The robbery of a large bag of gift cards is planned. Events spiral out of control, and most of the young people are killed. The stories themselves and the tragic finale stayed with this bibliophile a long time. Sad, haunting, and well worth the read.

Camping out with Nancy DeYoung

The Girl in the Tent ~ Memoir from the Road lives up to its title. Especially to fans of Jessica Bruder’s Nomadland, this is a terrific read. Inspired by her lifetime love of tenting and a desire to see the country, DeYoung embarked on nine months of a nomadic life. The author invites the reader along. She chronicles her adventures in a friendly style, including details and humor. Her chapters are illustrated with photos and drawings. I found the Route 66 experiences particularly fascinating: roadside signs and the importance of the route during dustbowl days from the 1930s. Her takeaway: “Get your kicks on Route 66.”

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

Adopting Autumn

Tags

adoptee, adoption, Autumn, Gleaning, Harvest, Hiking, John Keats, Reaping, Ripeness, Seasons

Sometimes we grow so busy, we forget to enjoy the changing of seasons. Yesterday, as I walked the arroyo near my house, I received a wakeup call. Crisp air, trees nearly bare, dazzling blue sky. On the arroyo floor, a previous hiker had left a message in the sand. It spoke directly to me, a reminder to cherish Autumn.

To Autumn
John Keats

(1795-1821)

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease;
For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 15
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook; 20
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day 25
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 30
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

************************************************

Join Elaine on alternate Mondays for reflections on adoption and life. Your comments are invited. November is National Adoption Awareness Month, and submissions are being taken for guest blogs on all aspects of adoption. Length no more than 500 words, photos accepted, short bio needed. Send queries to elaine.coleman2013@gmail.com

Decades of diaries became my memoir, The Goodbye Baby-Adoptee Diaries

Follow the Yellow Leaf Road

Tags

adoptee, Hiking, Renewal

October gave a party;

The leaves by hundreds came:

The ashes, oaks, and maples,

And those of every name.

— George Cooper: “October’s Party”

Check the thermometer. Mercury dips; outdoor plants must be moved inside; leaves blow away in gusts of chilly wind; an icy rain splatters intermittently. Even though being outdoors becomes a bit more challenging, Fall hiking is one of my favorite activities.

Thich Nhat Hanh said “When you walk, arrive with every step. That is walking meditation. There is nothing else to it.”

Scene: Santa Fe National Forest

Last Friday, my friend Mary and I chose the Borrego/Bear Wallow Trail for our morning outing. When we arrived at the trailhead parking lot — a short 20-minute drive from Santa Fe — we were the only folks there. We started our walk before 9 a.m., moving briskly to ward off the cold. 

This popular hike is a moderate four miles, following Trails 152, 254, and 182. A map displayed at the trailhead shows the way. One should turn left from Borrego onto Winsor, then left again on Bear Wallow. Basically a lollipop shaped route.

Stepping into the forest is stepping into another world.

Mary listens to the gentle soughing of wind through treetops.

Going down the wide dirt steps into the forest, we were captivated by the aspen. Their branches seemed to sweep the sky. Overhead, golden leaves quaked. The trees’ towering white trunks shimmered against deep green ponderosa pine trees.. Brilliant gold leaves trembled, rustled, danced, shook. Underfoot, fallen leaves formed a magic carpet. The views were so lovely, we found ourselves singing. Instead of “follow the yellow brick road, it was “follow the yellow leaf road.” A little over  two hours later, we’d finished. All too soon,  time to return to everyday life.

SOME TIPS FOR AUTUMN HIKING:

*Rain gear in your pack (jacket, rain pants)

*Hat with a chin strap (Fall wind can be blustery)

*First aid kit

*Plenty clothing layers than you think you’ll need.

*High protein snacks- beef sticks, nuts, raisins, energy bars

Elaine Pinkerton has hiked the hills around Santa Fe, New Mexico, for 50 years.

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life. The world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or http://www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

Meandering Around Maine: Monhegan Island

Tags

adoptee, Art, Gulf of Maine, History, Monhegan Island, Seafood, Sierra Club, Travel by water, Vacation

[Monhegan] seems to have power — as the Irish say about some beauty spots in Ireland — of casting a spell over you. You either like Monhegan or you don’t like it. But if it casts its spell over you – then you are its lover for life. That is what it did to S.P. Rolt Triscott. 

— A.J. Philpott: Boston Sunday Globe, 19 March 1939

Six days of the Sierra Club trip had passed. It was our last morning in Camden, Maine. Fortified by peach-stuffed french toast, we bid farewell to Maine Stay Inn hosts, Peter and Janis. A short drive south brought us to Port Clyde to catch the daily ferry to Monhegan. This rocky island is roughly 12 miles from the coast. To get there, we would traverse the Gulf of Maine. Comfortably seated on the “Elizabeth Ann,” I mentally traveled back to my earlier life in Seattle, Washington. Ferries were the norm. It was fun being back on water.

All aboard for Monhegan. The author with Rochelle Gerratt, Sierra Club Leader

Island Inn: A broad porch with lots of chairs for sea gazing, great restaurant, and comfy rooms.

Roughly two hours later, we stepped into the magical world of Monhegan. No car traffic allowed. This unique village boasts nine miles of forest and coastline hiking trails, a museum, one-room schoolhouse, a church, and several small shops. We checked into the Island Inn and began a week of walking shoreside trails and exploring the island on foot.

Natural beauty abounds. Like S. P. Triscott, I was captivated by the sea, the sky, the land itself. Not surprisingly, Monhegan is home to dozens of artists. Interspersed with hiking, we visited art galleries, shops, the Monhegan Museum of Art and History. All too soon, it was time to climb aboard the daily ferry and return to Port Clyde. Like the artist Triscott, I had become a Monhegan lover for life. I suspected that Mohegan Island would someday call me back.

Our last night, feasting on lobster at Island Inn. If the scenery doesn’t call me back, the seafood just might!

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees, Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet, in their quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

Meandering around Maine: Camden

Tags

adoptee, Maine, Travel, waterfront

Opening picture: Waterfront in Camden ~ Afternoon on the Gulf of Maine

How wonderful to “adopt” a new place on the planet! 

Since before the Pandemic, I’d not traveled anywhere except California to see the grandkids It was time to break out of the rut.

A friend and I just returned from a Sierra Club trip billed as “Jewels of the Maine Coast.” Guided by two Sierra Club leaders, Rochelle (from my home town of Santa Fe) and her co-leader Gail (a Maine resident), the first part of our vacation included Camden and environs. Daily hiking was the theme, but our week was enriched by cultural and educational events.

Camden, Maine: A beautiful place to begin the adventure. The Maine Stay Inn, owned and operated by former attorneys Janis and Peter Kessler, was built in the early 1800s. A three-story white clapboard, “home base” was located on High Street, Camden’s historic district. Every room was furnished with cosy sofas or chairs, beds with comforters, bookcases filled with classic and contemporary books, adorned with starched cotton curtains and all manner of creature comforts. My friend and I occupied a suite on the third floor.

The Maine Stay Inn

Historic District in Camden: park area on the grounds of Maine Stay Inn

One of several excellent Camden restaurants, featuring lobster, mussels and other seafood delights

Sweetgrass Winery, a short drive from Camden

Sweetgrass wine casks, containing blueberry cabernets, blueberry hard cider, cranberry smash and spirits made from local berries and barley

Our first week included a four mile tour of Merryspring Nature Center. Denise, the docent, introduced us to medicinal and culinary herb gardens. One “pod” comprised herbs used exclusively for dyes. Another area featured hybrid chestnut trees. After the herb lecture, we made our way along forested paths and visited springs used by Penobscot Indians and Revolutionary War soldiers. After lunch, back at Maine Stay Inn, we went to Beech Hill for hiking through blueberry fields.

On our last day in Camden, we drove to Sweetgrass Winery and were hosted to a tasting of wines and sangrias made with not grapes, but cherries. Tomorrow we would go by ferry from Port Clyde to Monhegan Island. (Stay tuned for Part Two. coming in October.)

The Words of Mother and Dad

Tags

adoptee, adoption, aging, Charlottesville, Dad, Diaries, Letters, Memory, Mortality, Sunset, Virginia, Wisdom, World War II

Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.
~Pierce Harris, Atlanta Journal

Note to readers: Before Richard and Reva Beard adopted me, the bond between them intensified. With each year of courtship, marriage and — most of all — through their World War II separation, they imagined the family they would build. The war made that dream even stronger. Though separated by 6,000 miles and 18 months, they corresponded every day. The letters were relegated to a file case in my parents retirement home. After Dad passed away, I asked my brother to send me the entire collection. Daddy had meant to write a book about his India experiences, but life got in the way. I inherited the thousands of handwritten epistles, quit my day job to read every one, and turned the best of them them into a book: From Calcutta with Love- The World War II Letters of Richard and Reva Beard. (Texas Tech University Press, 2002) The original missives were archived at the Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio. In 2002, the Texas publisher gave me back the rights. Last year Pajarito Press in Los Alamos, New Mexico acquired them. I’m happy to announce that, eighty years after they were first written by mom and dad, the letters are again being presented to the world.

Richard and Reva, I’d like to believe, would be proud to share their words with the world.

If I could speak to Richard today,  I’d remind him of a certain conversation. When going through some of my old diaries, I found this entry:

 My father and I were walking around the gentle hills of Charlottesville, Virginia. I’d left Virginia for New Mexico, embarking on my own life, but I visited at least once or twice a year. He and my mother had moved to a senior community named “Stonehenge.” I found the title amusing, thinking it conjured up the wisdom of the ages. On this particular evening, I was out walking with the wisest man I knew.
    The sun was setting and mist arose from the earth. Instead of a blazing sunset like those I experienced in New Mexico, this “sky-scape” was layered in subtle pastels…pink, peach and gray.
    Though I don’t recall my exact words, I told my father that when I was 70, his age at the time, I wouldn’t mind dying. I would, I told him, be ready to leave the earth.
    “You’ll feel differently when you’re there,” he retorted. “You’ll want more years ahead of you. Many more years.” I wanted to disagree, but I knew that argument was futile. Daddy was strong minded.
    Life happened. Marriage, children, divorce, grandchildren. Suddenly I was the agemy father was when he made his pronouncement.
    He’d left years earlier, but I felt that at some mysterious psychic level, he could hear and understand me. “You were right,” I longed to tell him.

Join Elaine Pinkerton on alternate Mondays for reflections on the life through adoption colored glasses, hiking, reading books, and writing. The Hand of Ganesh, slated for mid-April publication, can be pre-ordered from Pocol Press. (Pull down the Books tab at the top of this page). Stay tuned for a publication date for From Calcutta with Love. Thanks so much for reading; Your comments and questions are  invited.

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Poetry Monday in the Snow

Tags

adoptee, adoption, outdoors, Robert Frost, snowshoeing

Winter at Last! Here in the parched Southwest, we welcome any moisture that falls. After a dry January, Nature rewarded us with a snowstorm: two feet in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Last Saturday, three friends and I went snowshoeing in the Santa Fe National Forest. In puffy billows, fresh-fallen powder surrounded us. Tall pines, festooned in white, towered overhead. The morning sky was a deep, dazzling blue. The sun shone brilliantly, the light and shadows dappling the terrain. We made our way up and down hills from the Winsor to the Rio En Medio trails, talking intermittently but also listening to the silence. No one else around. Suddenly I remembered the following poem and recalled meeting the poet. I recited Robert Frost’ masterpiece from memory, inspiring others to quote from poems from their pasts. It was a magical morning.

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The Winsor Trail is one of the most popular in the Santa Fe area, but on this day we had it to ourselves!

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

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Join Elaine for weekly blogs about the writing life, hiking and seeing the world through adoption-colored glasses. Her newest novel, The Hand of Ganesh, a tale of two women traveling through India, focuses on adoption and adventure. It will be available in March — through Amazon, Pocol Press or your local bookstore. Questions and comments welcome!